


A Simple Game

by Aarri



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Buccaneer ships it, F/M, Gen, Miles is confused and can't understand anything, Olivier is a badass who knows too much, and her very weird brand of caring, especially his own feelings, which is okay because Olivier can just keep beating him at chess until he gets it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 03:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2051877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aarri/pseuds/Aarri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Buccaneer, don’t <em>ever</em> let me play chess with her again.”<br/>Canon compliant, brief LivMiles – and featuring Buccaneer as an aspiring matchmaker. May be extended a chapter or so in the near future, since it doesn't seem complete enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Game

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of my Briggs headcanons are apparent in this one. Sorry not sorry. If anyone has a better name for Buccaneer's supposed wife, please help me out. Also, to explain myself a bit, I feel like Miles' immediate family would obviously be very accepting, but I can't imagine that his extended Amestrisian family would be terribly thrilled about having Ishvalan genes in their bloodline, if only because the Civil War caused deep unrest and prejudice (which is quite apparent in the series).  
> Like all my other fics I beta as I go, but I do overlook some things. If you see an error or have a suggestion, please let me know!
> 
> Enjoy!

It wasn't uncommon to find either Captain Buccaneer or Major Miles in the mess hall, least of all sitting across from one another discussing the day’s plans, as was their custom every morning. When lunch came knocking both were too busy making sure Major General Armstrong’s orders were followed through to bother with a meal. As soon as dinner rolled around, however, they’d be right back where they had started in the morning, the occasional blueprints and notes scattered around their trays.

Olivier rarely left her den of an office to eat, preferring the cold silence of her own company to the hundreds of _babbling buffoons_ (in her terms) that frequented Briggs’ eatery. This left her two most trusted subordinates to do their own bidding for exactly two hours each day (disregarding nights, of course), and they made ample use of the time they were given.

So it was during these two hours that both Buccaneer and Miles were able to relax slightly, and while both had taken an immediate liking to one another when the Major had first been assigned to Briggs, it was also during these two hours each day that they had gotten to know one another. Miles liked that the bear of a man was able to see past his eye color, and Buccaneer in return appreciated that the Ishvalan was completely unfazed by the beauty (or absurdity, depending on whose opinion was solicited) of his right arm. Though outcasts like many others at Briggs, the two had become fast friends and had stayed that way.

It was on another ordinary evening that they once again found themselves seated across from one another, though this time their trays had been pushed aside to make way for a chessboard. Buccaneer had never fancied himself a terribly good strategist when it came to chess, and Miles was beating him soundly as a result.

“That’s check –” the Major said, sliding his queen forward with a smirk, “– and mate, Captain.”

“Damn you, Miles,” Buccaneer growled, admitting defeat and sweeping the pieces back into the bag they had been stored in. “I’ll beat you one of these days. Just you wait!”  
“Yes, I’m positive you will,” said damned man replied, folding up the board, though his smirk remained.

“Cocky bastard. How about we go outside and make it a fair fight?”

Miles let out a noise of protest. While he was sure to beat the other at chess and could certainly hold his own against Buccaneer physically, there was the matter of his _arm_. “Thank you, but I’d rather keep my ponytail where it is,” he replied, frowning. Buccaneer sat back, arms folded, and patted the right one fondly.

“Smart move, Major.” He flashed Miles a grin. “No one on this wall can stand up to me and Betsy.”

Miles raised his eyebrows. “ _Betsy_?” he queried, almost disbelieving of his own ears. Then again, if anyone was likely to name automail it was probably Buccaneer, he realized with an inward groan.

“’sright. Named for the wife back home,” the taller man answered proudly, flexing the apparent namesake. Though he rolled his eyes, the Major couldn’t help but smile all the same. “I do remember you saying something about a wife, though you neglected to tell me her name.”

“Finest damn name in the world, and don’t you forget it,” Buccaneer said, grinning, but Miles was still curious.

“How long has it been since you went back home?” he asked, propping his chin on one hand. “I, for one, know that I certainly haven’t had any leave in a year or two.”  
The Captain frowned, looking thoughtful. “I suppose…oh, not a good six months or so. I’ll have to ask the General again at some point, though I hate to abandon Briggs. But with another kid on the way…well, I’m needed elsewhere, too.” Miles looked faintly surprised, but then, Buccaneer was never quite what one expected. 

“Congratulations,” he offered. All in all, the Major reflected, he could picture his friend as a father quite easily. “How many does this one make it?”

“Three. Though I told her we’d better stop for a while, or I’d never get the chance to know any of them!” Buccaneer laughed his loud, booming laugh, and Miles smiled faintly. What was left of his own family remained inside Amestris, and probably wanted nothing to do with him, save for his mother. The Civil War had torn apart many families, but being of mixed races, his had suffered among the most.

As if sensing his turn of thought, Buccaneer eyed him. “Got a wife and kids of your own, Major?” he asked, after taking a swig of his drink.

Miles shook his head, though what little sadness shadowed his eyes was hidden behind his glasses. “No, it’s just me I’m afraid.”

“No girlfriend, nothing?”

“I’ve got my mother, who lives in Central. The rest of my family…well, those that remain probably aren’t proud of having Ishvalan blood soil their name.” He gave a hollow laugh, but didn’t resent Buccaneer for asking. It was only natural to want to know. “Besides, with me stationed up here, I don’t quite have time to be pursuing a woman. None of them fit my taste,” Miles added, making a face, but flashing the Captain a crooked grin all the same.

“ _None_ of them? I’m astounded at you, Miles. There’re women enough in North City to sate an army!” Buccaneer glanced suspiciously at him, though his crack about the army was true. Soldiers were soldiers, and most of them were men with certain needs. The Major was silent, however.

“Come now, Major. You can’t go living a lonely life forever.”

“When I meet the right person, I’ll know it,” he replied stubbornly, leaning forward to rest both arms on the table.

Well. Buccaneer couldn’t argue with that. But still, he pressed on. “Maybe I can help you our next night off.”

“As in, set me up?” Miles refrained from giving the other an exasperated look. “I doubt you’d find my type up here anyhow. I don’t mean to be rude, but most of the single women up here are too weak for my preference. And also incredibly disinterested in partnering with an Ishvalan, I might add. You’re forgetting we’re at the close of a civil war, Buccaneer.”

Ah. Now he was getting somewhere. The Captain smirked inwardly; it was becoming easy to see what Miles was getting at.

“So, in short, you’re looking for another General Armstrong, am I correct?”

Miles looked ready to be ill.

Buccaneer, however, looked gleeful, and let out a raucous laugh. “Miles, Miles,” he said, shaking his head once the laughter had subsided. “You’ve got your sights set pretty high, don’t you?”

“Keep it down,” the Major hissed, shooting the other a thunderous look. “I am _hardly_ interested in the Major General. Even if I were, she’d run me through before I got within a foot of her. I quite like my innards, thank you.”

“Fine, fine. Deny it all you like, but I’m onto you.” Miles made a noise of protest, but Buccaneer cut him off, leaning closer. “It wouldn’t hurt to at least admit it.”

“What good will it do, though? Even if I did wish to pursue the General – and I’m not saying I do,” Miles said quietly, scowling, “there is the matter of military fraternization laws, and my dignity. Which I’m positive would be stepped all over if I even so much as hinted anything more than professionalism towards her.”

“Don’t forget the broken ribs and blood loss you’d probably be facing too,” Buccaneer added sagely, flashing him a rather evil grin.

“Thanks, Captain,” came the deadpan reply.

They were distracted by a sudden flurry of motion and scraping of chairs as everyone to their left suddenly stood and saluted. Both men frowned, before exchanging a stunned look and hurrying to their own feet, right hands snapped to attention.

“At ease,” Major General Armstrong snapped, gracing the mess hall with her icy glare. She gave a loud sigh as she approached Miles and Buccaneer, dropping into a seat next to the latter, who gave her a curious look.

“Well don’t just sit there gaping at me like frogs! This is why I don’t come to this godforsaken mess hall in the first place. And if the heating weren’t being fixed in my quarters, I wouldn’t be here,” Olivier said crossly, frowning at her two subordinates.

“Apologies, sir. It’s just a bit of a shock to see you…here,” Miles offered, schooling his expression into one of careful neutrality. Damn Buccaneer for pressing him like that. And most of all, damn his own _heart_ for having turned traitor.

“Well,” Buccaneer said loudly, tipping Miles an enormous wink, “if you’ll excuse me, sir, I’m off to see if there are any more potatoes.” He stood and saluted Olivier before turning on his heel and marching away, braid swinging behind him. Miles watched him go, feeling as if a storm had just passed through and put his face in his hands, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll never understand that man, so long as I live,” he muttered, and Oliver looked faintly amused. “The Captain has a rather long list of surprises up his sleeve that even I myself am still uncovering,” she replied, leaning back in her chair. Her attention snapped to Miles, however, after a moment.

“Miles. You look positively green. Take a day off if you must, but don’t you dare show up for work feeling less than one hundred percent. I will not stand for sick soldiers; Drachma will take any opportunity to exploit a weakness, and your mind is not your sharpest when you’re ill.”

“I’m fine, sir. I assure you,” the Major replied, silently cursing Buccaneer for having been right. “If I can still beat the Captain at chess, then I know I’m doing all right,” he added, eyeing the bag of pieces and folded-up board from earlier. When he lost to Buccaneer at chess, he decided, it would be time for him to take a _permanent_ leave.

“Can you beat me, then?” Olivier’s eyes glinted in challenge, and Miles swallowed. _Hard_.

“Sir?”

“If you can beat me in a match, then you’re perfectly fine as you say, and I’ll allow you to work tomorrow. If not, however –” she paused, a calculating expression on her features, “– then I am ordering you to take the day off tomorrow in order to recover. Am I understood?”

“I…y-yes, sir.” Miles had no choice but to defer, feeling rather boxed in. A sense of foreboding came over him, and he sighed inwardly. There would be no winning against Major General Armstrong.

Twenty minutes later, he had been proven correct. Her ruthless attacks and careful strategizing had him beaten soundly before he could so much as move his queen.

“Checkmate, Miles. I’ll have Buccaneer look over your list of duties for tomorrow, while you get some rest,” Olivier said triumphantly, looking a tad smug. The Ishvalan protested silently that it wasn't completely his fault that he had lost, and he wasn't ill, either – he only felt it when recalling the conversation he and the Captain had been pulled away from. She must have seen the unrest in his expression, for the Major General looked disdainfully at him.

“Are you thinking of disobeying me, Major? I have told you time and again there is no room for mutiny on Briggs,” she warned, though Olivier knew he had no intention of even _thinking_ of betraying any command she gave him. Miles was her most loyal pawn – a knight, really – and he would follow her to the ends of the earth if she required him to.

“No, sir. Though I must insist that I’m not ill –” he was cut off by sudden movement across from him, and before he knew it, he felt a pair of lips against his own briefly before Olivier withdrew. Miles attempted to stammer out the rest of his reply, but felt his face warm and looked around quickly, thankful that they were two of the only ones remaining in the mess hall.

“Miles. You’re incredibly flushed, which tells me otherwise. You’re taking the day off tomorrow to sort things out, and you will return to your post the following day. I am expecting you to be in top form by then. Am I understood?” The _sort things out_ part was unquestionably vague, and Miles could only nod shakily, a hasty “yes, sir” escaping him. Most of his mind was still trying to work out what had just happened – there was no way she could have _known_ , was there –?

“I said, _am I understood_ , Major?”

“Yes, sir!” he barked, and Olivier stood, looking satisfied.

“I’ll send the doctor to check up on you in the morning. Good night, Miles.” With that, she was gone in a wake of blue and blonde swirling about her. Not once did Olivier look back, but she didn't need to see his confused expression to laugh quietly to herself. She probably understood his feelings better than the poor man himself did, but he needed time to realize them and get his head back on straight. After all, Olivier considered, she required an adjutant, not a love-struck fool of a man to assist her.

She had faith, though, that he would work it out and return like nothing had ever happened. He was smart enough, when he wanted to be.

Buccaneer chose that moment to conveniently re-appear, having managed to get a few more heaping spoonfuls of the entrée before the line staff closed down for the night. He clapped the Major on the shoulder, giving him a knowing look. Miles merely sighed deeply, slumping in his chair.

“And the verdict is…?”

He could still feel the cool press of her full lips to his own, the jolt of surprise that ran through him, and the undeniable urge to submit and return the kiss. Miles put a hand over his mouth, and shook his head fervently.

“Buccaneer, don’t _ever_ let me play chess with her again.”


End file.
